The Headmasters
by Joanie Dark
Summary: At the end of First Class, Erik decided to stay with his companions rather than start the Brotherhood. His ideologies start to shape the group in a different way from Charles' vision as the mutant/human conflict continues, teetering on the edge of war.
1. Chess

_AN: Hey kids! _

_Ok. Let's put some stuff out there. This is based off of the movie, not the comics. Why do I say this? I was doing my factchecking because I loooove continuity, and wanted all the minor characters to be personified correctly...only to realize an awful lot of the movie DOESN'T MATCH X-MEN COMICS AT ALL. This has caused me endless hair-ripping, but basically I've decided that there must be overrides of canon for movieverse. Azazel, for one, isn't banished to another dimension. Alex is no longer Scott Summer's little brother. (I'd like to add that BOTH of these facts I knew, and therefore bothered me tremendously, during the movie.) _

_Right. Now that we've got it settled that there WILL be continuity errors, sorry comic fans, time to move on with the show! Please enjoy my little What If._

* * *

><p>It had been some time since the incident, as they were now calling it, had occurred.<p>

It had been a terrible day, that much was certain. Though war between the USSR and the USA had been averted, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the entire incident had been a tragedy. The new, mutated race of superumans had now been presented to the world in a far more negative light than they deserved, the people affected now deemed dangerous and criminal to the general population. It was a cause of suffering to them all.

But no one suffered it moreso than Dr. Charles Xavier.

This war, this antagonism, had never been his intention. He wanted only to coexist amongst the people, to raise and nurture those like himself to have a fulfilling existance with their powers, but any public presence had been stripped from him and his people. He and the children were now bound where they were, entrapped within his manor, with minimal capacity to reach out to others, and the chance of being attacked should they slip up and show themselves for who they were in public.

If this metaphorical inprisonment had not been enough, there was also the matter of his legs. There was, sadly, no cure for the damage that had been done; the deflected bullet had hit his spinal cord and caused permanent paralysis. Every day was a struggle he had not before experienced, a new challenge to live a normal life that he had once taken for granted.

Then again, at least Erik was there.

Charles had a feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, that Erik wasn't _supposed_ to be there. That he was meant to, assuming there was some way in which the events of the world were meant to play out, leave Charles' side on that day in order to follow his ideals based on mutant superiority. But he hadn't, he _refused_ to leave. He had cradled his friend in his arms, distraught over the suffering he had caused him, promised to never abandon his side.

And so it was that Erik, along with the shattered remains of what was once the Hellfire Club, came to live at the manor-turned-academy that was the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. There was understandably some dissent amongst the inhabitants of the house, but it was kept to a manageable level with the co-operation of the Professor and his assistant head.

The school functioned according to Charles' original intention: simply a school, with the additional benefit of teaching young mutants to properly contain their powers. There was no underlying military current in their training, as had been necessary prior to the incident; if there had been, it would have been bound to cause antagonism and possible violence between the two factions of the school.

"It would be dreadful if the students turned against one another," Charles said. "Bishop to B3."

Erik's brow was furrowed as he moved his small, black piece to take another pawn. "Pawn to E4. Indeed it would. There's no need for our brotherhood to fight amongst ourselves. I fear, however, there is a chance of it occurring."

"One that must be avoided at all costs. Pawn to E4. You know that I never thought violence was truly a solution." Charles plucked the previous victor off of the table, causing Erik's frown to deepen.

"And I've told you before, peace was never an option either," he muttered, performing a quick queenside castle. "Though I must agree, we need to figure out how to keep the disruptions to a minimum among the pupils."

Charles' pawn darted forward a square, and he rested his head in his hand. "I think the obvious conclusion is that we need to determine a single underlying ideology, rather than have such differing views on the nature of our future as we have."

"Keep yourself out of my mind, Charles, especially while we play." Erik glared, and the other man lowered his hand.

"I had no intention of-"

"Don't lie." Erik moved a rook to D2, which was instantly taken by Charles' king. "Scheiße..." he muttered, and folded his hands to think.

"See? I have no need to read your mind-"

"Check," Erik said, smirking, as he moved a knight. The tiny wooden horse seemed to stare menacingly at the king. "And I suppose your plan for our agreement is for me to bend to your will and ideology?"

Charles moved his king away, keeping his finger on it. "That would be preferred, but I'm sure it shall take some time for you to see my side," he said, running his finger around the top of the piece.

"As it is the wrong side? Of course, Charles. There is no way that I would start spouting lies about the fact that we could ever live in peace and harmony as you seem to believe. It's a false hope that you offer."

"One day people will see the light," Charles said, removing his hand from the king in a slightly unsure manner.

"And if they don't? If they decide that our people, these children you've taken into your home, are a blight to be destroyed?" Erik asked, moving a bishop, and Charles sighed.

"I suppose, if it came to that, we'd have to engage in war against them, for our survival." He moved a rook across the board, and Erik moved his own in response. "But I hope that day would never rear its ugly head."

"At least you are not foolish enough to believe there isn't a chance of it happening," Erik said as he watched the other man move his king.

"A chance, yes. But I highly doubt that we will have problems, as long as we keep our heads low until the threat dies down."

"So we should hide? Let the humans have all the power?"

"We are not at war with the rest of our species, Erik," he said, tapping the top of a pawn with irritation. "That is entirely the wrong viewpoint to have. It will no doubt lead to conflict."

"Fine then," Erik said, leaning back in his wing chair, entertwining his fingers. "What do you suggest is our next course of action?"

"We do as we did before." Charles smiled. "Hank is progressing quickly in our reproduction of Cerebro. Once it is complete, we'll be capable of adding more to our numbers. We'll simply be sure to do it _quietly."_

"And risk being turned in while we look for them?"

"The others will be scared and confused from the negativity surrounding us themselves. They'll be happy to join us, to be safe."

A minute passed, and Erik nodded.

"I suppose, for the time being at least, that is for the best," he said, moving a knight and placing Charles back into check. He then smiled, adding, "After all, if it does come to war, we'll need an army."

"They are not an army, they are our children."

Erik chuckled at the professor's words. "I never knew you were so domestic."

"I suppose we may have many surprises for each other about ourselves as time goes on," Charles said, smiling warmly. A mahogany clock in the corner of the room started to chime the hours. "What do you say to our putting these issues and this game aside for now, and we retire for the night? It's seeming to be growing later than I had expected."

Erik nodded, standing up and walking around to the back of Charles' chair. "Certainly a good idea, I agree," he said, pulling the chair away from the table and manoeuvring it out of the room. "We'll have to discuss this idealistic worldview you seem to have later, however."

"And we'll work on your overly hostile nature of course, as well," Charles said, grinning up at the other man.

"Hush, you," Erik grumbled, and Charles laughed.

"You're doing it again. Being hostile."

"I can stop pushing this chair, if you wish."

"No, no, that won't be neccessary."

Erik stopped outside of Charles' bedroom, hesitating before opening the door.

"Don't think you've won quite yet, just because I agreed to drop this argument for the evening."

Charles just smirked.

"Don't be full of yourself. You may be a doctor, but I'm sure you realize that I don't tend to bend to a doctor's authority."

"Yet you're still here with me."

"Always," Erik affirmed.

"So you must on some level realize I'm in the right."

Erik opened his mouth to respond, but closed it, eyes narrowing.

"Sometimes, I fear a small part of me may indeed think that."


	2. Insomnia

Charles was staring at the ceiling, as he had often come to do in the wee hours of the morning. The night was a quiet time; the sleeping minds of the population were far more peaceful than the waking mind. The psychic quiet time may seem like it would be calm, but Charles always found that the world seemed _too_ quiet without the residual thoughts of the people around him. It was impossible for him to fall back asleep if he woke during the silence, even moreso now that he had so many thoughts filling his mind.

Erik...he was the biggest cause of these thoughts. Sometimes he wondered, if he hadn't seen the clash between the man and Shaw, if he hadn't saved him from drowning, how things would have turned out differently. Sometimes his thoughts were bitter-perhaps he would have had a better handle on the situation, he and his team would be on good terms still with the government, he and the others would be celebrated as heroes rather than classed as villains. Perhaps...perhaps he would still have his legs.

But no, that could never be the case. Erik had been so integral to the group. Without Erik, he likely wouldn't have been able to pull his team together as well. He had been vital in bringing down Shaw, in preventing war.

And of course, Charles would have been so lonely without him.

He loved Raven with all his heart, he wouldn't deny that. She was his sister, after all, and he'd never say he didn't. The other mutants were delightful children, filled with possibility and power, and he loved every minute he spent with them. But Erik...there was something _different_ about that man. His sheer, bold determination intrigued Charles in ways he could not quite understand, but he was sure that he would never regret convincing the other man to join forces with him.

Still, sometimes when he lay in bed, his own thoughts far too loud in the quiet of the night...sometimes when he tried to move his toes, hoping it had been a bad dream...he couldn't help but feel a twinge of hatred towards the man.

No, no...hatred was far too strong a word to use. He did not _hate_ the man. Nor did he despise him, abhor him, loathe him, or detest him. Perhaps disdain?

Charles chuckled to himself. What was he becoming, troubling over wording as if he were an English professor rather than a scientist.

Really, though, he could not say he felt anything so severe towards the man. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, and in fact could barely admit it to himself, but he couldn't help but feel that he had some inexplicable bond to Erik. It would be impossible to feel disdain, much less any actual hatred. Erik was, for all of his problems, still one of the people Charles seemed to care for most in the world. He contemplated what volumes this spoke on the number of friends he had, and he chuckled.

He walked his fingertips over his hip, frowning when they got to the point high on his thigh where he could no longer feel the contact with his leg. How long had it been...two and a half, three months? Still, the lack of sensations was no less unusual than that day on the beach, as the pain coursed through half his body and was suspiciously absent from the other half. He felt no anger then, merely a mild sadness and betrayal, as Erik spat accusations at MacTaggert. He remembered the man's tears clear as day; he remembered the regret moments after he told Erik it was his fault, when he saw the shattered expression of a broken man staring down at him.

He was so sure then that Erik would leave. Ever so certain...

And yet he stayed. He snarled at the agent, clinging to Charles, barked orders in order to safely evacuate the island and the targets of American and Russian sites. Still, though he held himself remarkably well, Charles could only remember the glistening tears hanging off his cheek, his hand running through Charles' hair, his whispers of _I'm so sorry_ and _I never meant to hurt you_, shaky and broken whispers.

No, Charles could never hate Erik. That was impossible.

Erik was staring at the ceiling, as he had often come to do in the wee hours of the morning. It was no such thing as Charles' insomnia, the troubling side effect of being a psychic; no, Erik's plight had only began a few months prior.

He was honestly surprised Charles let him stay by his side. The Professor no doubt had the intelligence to locate and lead their small army of mutants, to raise them and nurture them into a powerful unit. More than that, he had this way about him...people _trusted_ the man. Hell, Erik trusted him. He had no reason to trust anyone on earth, really, but Charles...with a smile and a nod, he could easily make a man follow him.

And Charles himself was trusting. He trusted Erik, after all. Even now, even despite...despite what he did. Despite the fact that he went against the plan, killing Shaw-which, he realized in hindsight, must have been terribly painful for Charles, as the two had linked minds-but beyond that, the fact that he was the one responsible for Charles' paralysis...he had no idea how the man could have forgiven him.

He must disdain him.

Erik rolled over in his bed, wondering how Charles was right now. Hopefully he was asleep in his own bed right now, peaceful and quiet, with lovely, foolish dreams running through his pacifistic head. Erik, on the other hand, was bound to have horrible visions and flashbacks fill his mind should he close his eyes.

Maybe things would have been better had Charles simply let him guide the missles to their targets.

...Maybe things would have been better had Charles simply let him drown.

No, that was foolish. That never would have solved anything. That bastard Shaw would have never been killed, and he never would have made the companions...friends, he supposed...if it weren't for the fact that he had been pulled out of the water by that mind-invading British brat.

Still, he thought, burying his face into his pillow, he was glad on a completely different level that he had met Charles. Someone he could trust, he could maybe even care for, after all the years of pain... Yet then he went and broke him. The first person in years of his life he could call a friend, and yet he-

_Erik. You really should be sleeping. It is late._

Erik glanced at the ostentatious mind-blocking helmet on his bedside, before shaking his head.

"Fine, fine, I'll try to sleep," he muttered, well aware that the actual words would not be heard, but only the thoughts.

_Good. I can't have my co-head sleeping on the job in the morning, _the thought came through his head. It seemed to hesitate, and then added, _Also...I apologize for the intrusion in your mind, but...don't beat yourself over what happened that day. It will only make you miserable._

Erik was silent, frowning slightly. A single tear escaped his eye, and was quickly wiped away.

"...Goodnight, Charles," he muttered.

_Plesant dreams, Erik._

For the first time in years, Erik slept soundly.


	3. STATUS MESSAGE

Hey! It's JD. Just putting out a couple noticed into the interwebz for anyone watching this story right now.

Unfortunately, this story is ON HIATUS. I still love the fandom, but I have other projects that have taken up my interest. At some point I do plan on writing more, but I'm unsure when. My gravest apologies.


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